


you live in my bones and we live in the sun

by queenmcgonagall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:00:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenmcgonagall/pseuds/queenmcgonagall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the sun and the desert and a map and nowhere to be but with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you live in my bones and we live in the sun

My mouth is salty, the taste of the popcorn lingering in the crevices that your tongue has yet to reach. You laugh, your curls whip in the wind and I think you are the most beautiful person I know.

We don’t know where we are. We don’t know what state, or what highway, and somewhere along the coast, we lost track of who we were. We lost sight of who we were supposed to be, who they thought we were, and somewhere in that godforsaken desert, we picked up who we really were. You and me, blue and green, short and tall, Lou and Haz, just us. And as we whip along on the burning asphalt, leaving behind the lies and the secrecy and the glamour of LA, I find myself wishing that we’d brought a tent.

I wish we had a brought a tent so that at nightfall, when the coyotes start to howl and your eyes start to droop, we could pull off the highway into some little ghost town and pitch a tent in a dusty place and I could suck bruises into your hipbones until the sun came up or until you fell asleep, whichever came first.

And we are raw out here. We are stripped to bone. The layers of filth, of lies and of pretending are ripped away and here we lie, exposed but completely real. We are the clearest of ourselves, the best of ourselves. I am always the best version of myself when I am with you. But here in the middle of nowhere, free of what they want us to be, what they want to see, what they want you to be, who they want me to love…all I see is you and your eyes and your mouth and I know that if I could have anything in this world, it would be to make you smile every day for the rest of our lives. And the rest doesn’t matter really.

We’re laughing. It’s not often it’s with such a lack of restraint, but here we are, and your head is tipped back and the raucous screams tear your throat open and its a lovely noise that should grate on my ears but instead makes me want to cry because I hardly ever hear that sound anymore and it’s beautiful, you’re beautiful, please laugh like that more often. Your shoulders shake and I remind you to keep your eyes on the road because goddamnit Hazza if I’m gonna die I want to die in England. And you reach over and pull my hand up to your mouth and lick my thumbnail and I roll my eyes because you idiot.

We buy caramels at a shitty gas station for truckers. You slink around in the candy aisle, trying to avoid the gaze of the clerk and I remind you for the 19th time that we’re in the middle of Southern California, do you really think some 63 year old man is going to recognize a boyband sensation? The cool touch of our Gatorade bottles is a relief, the sweet burn coats our caked-with-dust throats and I watch you drink; your adams-apple bobs and I want to bite it, but ok now that 63 year old is watching and it’s really fucking creepy so I just pee while you buy some Starbursts, because you’re secretly an 8 year old and you need the sugar.

We stare at each other while you pump gas. The bright sun glints harshly off the hood of the car, the burning metal searing into our legs as we lean against it, lined up next to each other, and I can feel the heat of you against every part of me. You squint at me, your eyes scrunching against the glare of the sun and your nose pulls up and I think maybe nobody will see me, so I lean forward and press my lips against yours, long enough to taste the Gatorade on your lips and smell the sweet scent of sun on your face. Your cheeks are tinged pink, but it suits you.

When we’re back in the car, you turn on the radio. Familiar strains float through the car and I hear you hum along and I roll my eyes because oh my god have we not heard this song a million times, in the recording studio, on the tour bus, in the interviews. But it never fails to put a smile on your face so I can’t help but sing along under my breath.

So we drive and we drive and we drive and sometimes we stop, sometimes we sit on the dusty side of the road and I put hands on your knees and kiss your neck until a car comes by and we have to pull apart. And then we drive some more and I really don’t know where we’re going but we have a map and a cell phone and no destination and that’s good enough for me, so I hope it’s good enough for you.

You’re snoring, you know. I sit here and I look at you from the driver seat, because it’s my turn to drive now. Your head lolls again the glass, cheek pushing against the window and I know that when you wake up, there will be a red patch on your face. I’ll laugh at you when you wake up, you know I will. I’ll run a hand through your tangled curls until you’re begging to pull over, your eyes glassy, pupils blown and I’ll peel the sweaty clothes from your lean body and we’ll make love on leather seats in the middle of the desert while the cars roar by on the interstate.

And eventually, we’ll probably have to pull over and find a payphone because I think your cellphone is already dead and we’ll call the boys and let them know where we are. And Niall will ask if the food is different in wherever we are and Liam will worry, will wonder if we have the right map, and Zayn will just wish us luck and tell us not to get bitten by a rattlesnake, so that’s pretty helpful.

Sooner rather than later, we’ll be back to reality, back to cities and the fake you and the fake me and the fake world but I’ll share a secret smile with you and remember the cacti that you stupidly touched and pricked your finger on and we’ll remember the taste of dust on our lips as we kissed into tomorrow. And I’ll wink at you while you bite your lip and no one will know whatever happened on the interstate in the middle of California but that’s ok, because we’re not really sure either.

So we still don’t know where we are, but we found who we were again, out on that hazy stretch of highway and opportunity that stretched into the horizon. I found your laugh, the real one, not the flirty one. I found your grin, the soft one, not the cheeky one. And I think I found myself, think I was maybe hiding in the crook of your neck or maybe even behind your heart, because what better place to hide from reality.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the fact that nobody actually knows where Lou and Haz were after the VMA's and everyone secretly hoped they were on some cross-California road trip.


End file.
